Looks Can Be Deceiving
by Deana
Summary: Aramis has a strange affliction that d'Artagnan thinks everyone is joking about, but to his shock, it turns out to be true.
1. Chapter 1

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 **Looks Can be Deceiving**  
A Musketeers story by Deana

Story takes place in season 1

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"ACHOO!" _*thump*  
_  
"Oh, no…"

D'Artagnan looked towards the stairs when he heard what sounded like someone falling, before looking at Athos at his quiet comment. That wasn't the kind of thing that one often heard from the usually stoic musketeer, so d'Artagnan asked, "What is it?" before looking back towards the stairs. They were standing in line for morning muster, and he noticed Porthos looking up there too with a concerned expression, and then he realized why: a gloved hand suddenly came out of nowhere and grabbed onto the rail, and Aramis suddenly stood, leaning on the rail for a few seconds before making his way towards the stairs and descending very slowly.

D'Artagnan watched Aramis walk down the steps. "Aramis just… _fell_ ," he said, in shock.

"It appears that he has caught a cold," Athos stated, as if that explained everything.

Porthos sighed, watching his best friend closely, as if waiting for him to fall again. "When Aramis is sick, he gets clumsy," he told d'Artagnan.

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan asked.

"You'll see," said Porthos. "And you'll _never_ forget."

D'Artagnan glanced at him with a bewildered expression before looking at Aramis again and seeing him reach the bottom and miss the last step, stumbling but catching himself thanks to his hold on the rail.

D'Artagnan looked to see if Treville was coming before he considered breaking formation to go over to his friend, but before he had a chance to move, he saw that Porthos had already rushed over to Aramis and grabbed his arm, hustling him over to stand in line just as Treville came out of his office.

Porthos realized that Aramis was standing on his left instead of his right and quickly pulled him to the side and switched places with him.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis and saw that he looked pale and was breathing a little faster than normal. He quickly faced forward again as Treville reached them and took attendance.

"Athos!"

"Here."

"Aramis!" Treville got no reply, and looked up.

Porthos elbowed his friend.

"Here," Aramis said.

Treville looked at him and frowned, before walking closer and staring at him. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Aramis said. His voice didn't sound right.

Treville frowned. "You're sick."

Aramis shook his head. "No…I swallowed water the wrong way this morning and choked on it."

Treville stared at him for a few seconds later, before turning to go back to his spot.

Once Treville finished taking attendance and assigned the other musketeers their duties, he motioned to the four of them and went over to their usual table, sitting on the edge. "The king is going to hear the grievances of some of the locals today, which means that you four need to be stationed in the throne room."

Athos and Porthos had to fight themselves to not look at Aramis when they heard that.

Treville noticed that something was wrong. "Is there a problem?"

Porthos opened his mouth, but suddenly closed it.

D'Artagnan saw Aramis kick Porthos' foot, and wondered what on earth was going on.

Aramis shook his head at Treville—deciding not to speak this time.

"All right," Treville said. "Eat breakfast and then head to the palace."

"Yes sir," said d'Artagnan. He watched their captain walk away before he sat at the table and looked at everyone. "What is going _on_ here?"

"It's like I told you before," said Porthos. "Aramis gets clumsy when he's sick."

"I'm not sick," Aramis said, as he sat beside d'Artagnan and rubbed his eyes.

"Then what exactly did we witness a few moments ago?" Athos asked, putting a foot up on the bench and leaning on his knee.

Aramis kept rubbing his eyes. "I tripped. There's a loose board on the floor up there."

"You tripped," said Porthos. "And the fact that you 'tripped on a lose board' right after you sneezed was just a coincidence, then?"

Aramis stopped rubbing his eyes but didn't look at anyone. "Yes."

Athos reached out and put a hand under Aramis' chin, lifting his face up so he could see it better, displaying his bleary eyes and paler-than-usual skin.

Aramis yanked his head away, and seemed to sway slightly. "I'm fine." His voice sounded a little scratchy and nasally.

Porthos looked at Athos. "What are we gonna do?"

D'Artagnan looked from one to the other of them. "You're serious about this?"

Aramis sighed, and had to stifle a cough.

"Yes," Athos answered. "Aramis with a cold has the potential to wreak havoc."

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, who wouldn't look at anyone again. "I don't understand…how is that possible?"

"No doctor we've brought him to has been able to do anythin'," Porthos said. "When Aramis is sick, he looses coordination, especially when he sneezes; it makes him dizzy. The whole thing started when he caught an infection in his left ear from a kid in the orphanage*. It left damage." He suddenly shook his head. "Oh, the stories we could tell you…"

Serge suddenly came over with a tray and placed plates in front of them. "Mornin', boys," he said.

Everyone repeated it back, and Serge stopped and looked at Aramis. "Blimey!" he exclaimed, before taking the empty tray and hurrying back to the kitchen.

D'Artagnan watched him go. "What just happened?"

"Proof for ya," said Porthos. "The last time Aramis was sick—it was just before we met you, in fact—he went into the kitchen in search of honey. He found it, but managed to knock over a six-foot-high shelf that was covered with supplies."

D'Artagnan blinked and looked at Aramis. "Did you get hurt?"

Porthos answered before Aramis had a chance to. "He didn't, but how do you think Serge got that limp?"

D'Artagnan looked at him in shock.

"Don't lie to him, Porthos!" Aramis exclaimed, before the cough that he'd stifled became un-stifled.

"Serge wasn't there at the time," Athos said. "But when he came back and saw the mess—and Aramis attempting to clean it up, which, in his condition, was only making it worse—you could practically hear his anguished scream all the way down to the palace."

Porthos started laughing. "Aramis stumbled out of the kitchen covered in flour! Even funnier, he forgot to bring the honey, and I had to go in there and get it because Serge wouldn't let him back in!"

D'Artagnan had to smile at the mental picture of Aramis covered in flour, but he tried to hide it, noticing that the subject of their conversation was sitting there quieter than he'd ever seen him, pushing the food around on his plate. "Aramis?"

"I'm fine," Aramis replied.

"We're not tryin' to make fun of you, Aramis," Porthos said. "We just know you by now and we want to protect you."

"And everyone else," Athos deadpanned.

Aramis raised his head. "I'm _fine_ ," he said, firmly. "One sneeze doesn't mean the end of the world." Even as he said it, his nose scrunched and he sneezed again.

" _Two_ sneezes," Porthos clarified.

"So? You know that I sneeze sometimes!" Aramis exclaimed. "It doesn't mean that I'm sick!"

Porthos nodded. "Yeah, in the _spring_. It ain't spring right now, Aramis."

"I said I'm _fine,_ " Aramis told them, sounding annoyed. "The king is expecting all _four_ of us, and I intend to fulfill my duty." He quickly stood and seemed to forget that there was a bench behind him. He nearly flipped over the back if it, but caught himself by grabbing the table.

Everyone chose to ignore it.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" Porthos asked.

Aramis opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn't hungry, but he realized that it wouldn't help his case any, so he sat down again and ate as much as he could.

Fifteen minutes later, they were mounted and riding out of the garrison. Aramis was quiet along the way, trying to hold in his sneezes but mostly failing. He had a tickle in his throat that was driving him mad, but he knew that if he coughed, the others would renew the earlier conversation.

Soon, they were at the palace, heading up the stairs and passing the people who would be heard by the king that day.

Climbing the stairs was making it harder for Aramis to hold back the urge to cough, so as they passed a group of people who were arguing, he used their noise to cover up the sound, hoping that his friends wouldn't notice.

Porthos looked at him, and Aramis knew that he hadn't succeeded. Naturally, the instant he looked at him was when Aramis' lack of coordination struck and he tripped up the stairs.

D'Artagnan, walking beside him, grabbed his arm before he could fall.

Aramis inwardly sighed. "Thank you," he said.

D'Artagnan nodded, trying to keep his shock off his face. It looked like Athos and Porthos were _not_ exaggerating.

The guard at the door let the musketeers in, and they strode inside and stood close enough for the king to know they were there, but not close enough to get in his way as he stood pacing.

"Ah," Louis said when he saw them. He motioned for them to take their places six feet away from the throne, with Aramis and Porthos off to one side and Athos and d'Artagnan on the other. The four musketeers were meant to be his protectors should an angry subject not be happy with the king's decision.

D'Artagnan looked at Athos as he stared at Aramis. "Maybe nothing will happen," he said. "He doesn't look _that_ sick."

"Looks can be deceiving," Athos replied.

D'Artagnan sighed, wondering what crazy memories would take up residence in his mind after today…

TBC

'*Off-Balance': story ID 12239330


	2. Chapter 2

The first subject to air his grievance to the king was shown in, and then the second, and the third. King Louis, to his credit, tried to be good and fair, knowing that his decisions would swiftly become known to the people.

Nothing happened with Aramis, who stood quietly next to Porthos. Nothing, that is, until d'Artagnan noticed him keep raising his hand to his nose.

The two subjects before King Louis were fighting over a goat. The person currently holding it was saying that it was his, while the other man was saying that it belonged to _him_. The man without the goat was saying that his neighbor's goat had died, and he had stolen his in its place. The situation had a very Biblical feel to it, and d'Artagnan was hoping that Louis wasn't going to tell one of them to cut the goat in half and give a piece to each claimant.

Louis apparently had a better idea, and told the man, "Put the goat down and both of you step away from it."

The man obeyed, and after the goat stood there for a few seconds, it started walking over to the _other_ man, before stopping beside him.

The man looked at the king triumphantly. "You see, sire!"

"Yes, I see. The goat apparently knows its owner," said the king. "The goat shall remain with you."

"But sire!" said the other man. "That proves nothing!"

"It proves _everything,_ " Louis countered. "That is my decision."

Just as Louis spoke, d'Artagnan and Athos both noticed the look on Aramis' face…he was obviously about to sneeze.

Porthos saw at the same time, and knowing that it would greatly embarrass the king—and possibly get them in trouble—he grabbed Aramis' face, holding a hand over his nose and mouth.

The resulting _*ffft*_ was covered over by the king's voice as he spoke, and the only people who noticed anything were the ones who happened to be looking at Aramis at the time…which was nearly every female in the room. Thankfully, the women were wise enough not to laugh aloud while the king was speaking.

Porthos removed his hand, looking at it and making a disgusted face before glancing around as if wondering where to wipe it. He looked at Aramis, before reaching down to grab his friend's blue sash and wiping his hands on it.

Aramis didn't even notice; he sniffed and slowly blinked his eyes before swaying slightly.

D'Artagnan noticed. "Athos!" he whispered.

Athos had seen everything, and as Aramis took a step to try to keep his balance, Athos knew what was about to happen and exclaimed, "Watch out!"

The tall French flag tipped away from Aramis when he bumped into it, and Athos ran over and pulled the king aside.

"What on earth!" Louis exclaimed as it crashed to the floor.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," said Athos. "I saw the flag detach from its pedestal." He walked over to it and fiddled with the base—which was absolutely fine—before setting it upright and making a show of ensuring that it wouldn't tip over again.

The king took a deep breath. "Thank you, Athos, your fast reflexes do you credit." He looked at the men with the goat, and waved his hand towards the door. "Off to your homes. Next!"

D'Artagnan and Athos looked at Aramis, who looked shocked at what had happened. The king had never actually been in danger of being struck by the flag…they all knew that Athos had improvised to prevent the sick musketeer from getting in trouble.

Porthos was holding onto Aramis' arm, having grabbed it when he'd knocked into the flag. He slowly let go, staring at Aramis as if making sure that he didn't need the help to remain standing.

The rest of the time was spent boringly standing there watching King Louis deal with his subjects' grievances. Aramis had no more mishaps—to the musketeers' relief—but they didn't fool themselves into thinking that nothing else would eventually happen to him…therefore they were very glad when the guard at the door announced that there were no more people waiting their turn.

Aramis' relief was easily readable on his face. He'd been holding in more sneezes and coughs and his nose was starting to run. What he really wanted to do was to return to the garrison and go to bed, but doing that would be admitting that the others were right about him being sick. Suddenly his arm was tugged, and he blinked and turned his head.

"Hey," said Porthos, frowning. "Didn't you hear us? We're leavin'."

"Oh," Aramis said. He started to walk with them, ignoring the strange looks that he was getting from his friends. Once out of the throne room, he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. It was a massive relief, and he held onto it as they headed down the stairs.

"That didn't take as long as usual," d'Artagnan said.

"Thank God," said Porthos, throwing a glance at Aramis.

Aramis ignored it and continued to walk. Seconds later, he sneezed twice in a row and missed the last two steps, falling hard to his hands and knees before anyone could do anything.

D'Artagnan gasped as he and Porthos knelt to make sure he was all right.

Athos stood above them with his arms crossed and watched as Aramis shifted with a wince to sit on the floor. "Still telling us that you are not ill?" he asked.

Aramis looked up at him silently and sniffed as he wiped his nose.

"Can you get up?" d'Artagnan asked him.

Aramis nodded and d'Artagnan and Porthos pulled him to his feet. No sooner was he standing that he sneezed again, and they tightened the grip on his arms, waiting until they were sure he'd remain standing before they let go. They continued on, with Aramis limping a little on his right leg. He'd landed hardest on his knee, and had a feeling that it would be covered by a nice bruise soon.

D'Artagnan kept stealing glances at Aramis as they walked. He'd never seen anything quite like this before…a person losing their balance every time they sneezed. It seemed an especially serious issue for a soldier. He wondered what caused it, as it definitely was _not_ normal, despite what they'd told him about apparent lasting damage from a prior infection.

Nothing else befell Aramis as they mounted their horses and rode back towards the garrison.

"I hope you're gonna tell the captain that you're sick and need to be taken off duty," Porthos said.

"If you do not, then _I_ will tell him," Athos interrupted before Aramis could answer.

Aramis threw Athos a betrayed expression.

"Treville will understand. You cannot complete your duties if a mishap occurs every time you sneeze," Athos said. His quiet monotone made the words sound unintentionally hilarious.

"Treville knows about this?" d'Artagnan asked.

Everyone swung their eyes to look at their newest member.

"Does he _ever_ ," said Porthos.

 _"Parry, lunge, riposte!" Treville exclaimed, calling out the moves that Aramis was making against him as they demonstrated an attack for a group of new recruits. He stopped and faced them. "Pay special attention to posture…too stiff and you'll be too slow, too loose and your moves will be sloppy." He faced Aramis again and held up the sword in a salute as Aramis did the same. "En garde!"_

 _Aramis pulled himself into the proper stance._

 _"Attack!"_

 _Aramis obeyed, and they continued their mock-fight. Suddenly, he felt a sneeze coming on, and he tried to hold it back. He'd woken with a stuffy nose and scratchy throat that morning, and had been doing his best to ignore it._

 _Treville was none the wiser, and continued explaining to the recruits what they were doing._

 _Aramis thought he'd succeeded in holding the sneeze back, but it suddenly exploded and he lost his balance. A split-second of panic shot through him as he realized that Treville was about to accidentally skewer him, and as he went down, he managed to block Treville's strike, leaving him miraculously unharmed._

 _Treville was so shocked at what he'd just seen—and what he'd almost done—that Aramis' block became a disarm as Treville's sword fell from his hand…_

"Aramis nearly got himself killed that day," said Porthos. "It's something that we've never forgotten…especially Captain Treville."

D'Artagnan didn't know what to say; he simply shook his head as they rode, hoping that Aramis would face reality and take himself to bed once they got back, for his _own_ sake…

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis sneezed a few more times along the way but never fell off his horse, at least. But as they rode through the marketplace, a man suddenly yelled, "Help! I've been robbed!"

The four Musketeers quickly dismounted and ran after the man who was tearing down the road, pushing people out of the way and jumping over stands in order to escape. He managed to get away from them, and eventually, Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan met up with each other.

"Where's Aramis?" Porthos asked.

Suddenly, an incredible crash filled the air, and all three of them ran towards the sound, finding a merchant's cart smashed with fruit and vegetables strewn everywhere.

Aramis, naturally, was lying right in the middle of it.

Porthos reached him first and knelt. "Aramis! Are you all right?"

Aramis blinked dazedly. "What happened?" he mumbled.

"You should've seen it, messieurs!" the owner of the destroyed cart exclaimed. "The thief was running this way, but your friend could not have seen him around the corner. Despite that, he knew that he was coming, for just before the thief approached, your friend dove at him and they both crashed into my cart!"

The thief was sitting nearby, with bystanders preventing him from running off. The man's size rivaled Porthos.

The Musketeers looked at each other knowingly. Aramis didn't dive at the man who he couldn't even see; he'd obviously sneezed, lost his balance, and been run over when the bull had smashed into _him_.

"Can you get up, Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis lifted his head as if to try before suddenly sneezing and lowering it back down. "Ooooh," he moaned, closing his eyes.

Two Red Guard soldiers came running over to see what all the noise was about.

"Right on time, as usual," Porthos said, sarcastically.

"Arrest that man," Athos told them. "He is a thief."

The Red Guards obeyed and led the man away.

Athos knelt beside Porthos and d'Artagnan and joined them in staring at Aramis, who was trying to sit up again. "Are you injured?" he asked.

"My pride, mostly," Aramis told them. He winced, contradicting his answer.

"No need for that, everyone thinks you tackled him," said d'Artagnan, sweeping apples off their friend. "You're their hero."

Aramis finally made it to a sitting position with their assistance. "Well, _that_ helps." He held out his hands and they pulled him to his feet, helping him extract himself from the broken pieces of wood. He leaned on one of the unharmed carts for a moment as pain throbbed through various parts of his body.

Athos took some coins out of his pocket and handed them to the merchant. "For the damage, monsieur."

The man gave a slight bow. "Thank you."

Athos nodded and they gently lead the limping Aramis away.

"I'll go get the horses," said d'Artagnan, running ahead.

Porthos and Athos kept hold of Aramis' arms, as if expecting him to fall again any second.

"I'm all right," Aramis told them.

"We believe that," Athos answered, but his tone said otherwise.

It didn't take long for d'Artagnan to reach them, and Aramis mounted without _too_ much difficulty and they rode off.

"Back to our earlier question," said Porthos. "You're tellin' the captain that you're sick, right, Aramis?"

Aramis sighed, which only made him cough. "We'll see," he said, just to end the conversation.

They made it back to the garrison without further incident, but just as Aramis started to dismount, he sneezed and lost his balance, falling to the ground in a heap and landing on his left side, which already felt like one huge bruise from shoulder to hip thanks to the thief slamming him into the fruit cart. He couldn't stop the cry of pain that passed his lips.

The other Musketeers should've expected something like that but none of them did, and they were all shocked at the sight.

Treville saw it happen too, and ran over from where he stood. "What happened?!" he exclaimed, expecting to be told that Aramis had been shot or stabbed.

Athos had reached Aramis first and was helping him sit up. He opened his mouth to answer, but didn't get a chance.

*ACHOO!*

"He's sick," Treville realized. "You _lied_ this morning!"

"No," Aramis said, wincing. "That was actually true; I _did_ swallow water the wrong way and choke. I just left _this_ part out," he said, gesturing to his face as if to indicate his stuffed nose.

Treville grabbed Aramis on the other side and he and Athos were about to pull him up when Aramis sneezed again. They both halted.

D'Artagnan, still finding the entire situation to be very bizarre, was amazed to see Treville treating it with complete seriousness. He'd expected their captain to roll his eyes and tell Aramis that a stuffy nose never killed anyone.

Aramis tried to stand. "Can you get me up before the whole garrison sees me?" he asked.

Treville and Athos stood, pulling him up with them.

"Does he need a doctor?" Treville asked. "I'm sure there were mishaps along the way…?"

"No," Aramis quickly said, before anyone could answer. "I'm fine."

"Well, go be _fine_ in bed," said Treville. "And _stay_ there."

Aramis mumbled something in reply as Athos and Porthos steered him towards the stairs.

D'Artagnan remained behind and looked at Treville, saying nothing.

Treville frowned. "What?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I keep expecting everyone to start laughing at me for believing the jest."

Treville smiled slightly. "It's no jest, d'Artagnan. When Aramis is sick, he could accidentally bring the sky down, if it were possible. Did they tell you when it began?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "With an ear infection."

Treville nodded. "We didn't know that it had left lasting damage until the next time he fell ill. It's happened ever since."

"I've never seen anything like it," said d'Artagnan. "No doctor has an explanation?"

Treville shook his head. "I doubt that medical science will know within our lifetimes." He started to walk off. "The three of you have the task of keeping him in bed. If I hear any crashes or the garrison collapses in the middle of the night, I'll know why."

D'Artagnan smiled slightly at that, shaking his head again as he headed for the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I don't have to stay in bed just because I'm sneezing!" Aramis exclaimed, standing in the middle of his room. Bed was the very place where he _wanted_ to be, but he was feeling belligerent because he was in pain and miserable.

"You're not just sneezing, Aramis," said Porthos. "You fall down every _time_ you sneeze, and that's not normal…even though it's normal for _you."_

Aramis *hrumphed* and crossed his arms.

Athos reached over and started to unbutton Aramis' jacket.

"I can do it myself!" Aramis exclaimed, pushing his hands away. Suddenly, he sneezed, and his knees buckled.

Athos quickly grabbed him under the arms, stopping his friend's plummet towards the floor.

D'Artagnan walked in just before the sneeze, and watched in shock.

Porthos grabbed Aramis from behind, taking some of his weight off Athos. "You were saying, Aramis?"

Aramis slowly raised his head, looking dizzy. "Shut up," he mumbled. He stumbled along when he was pulled towards his bed, and seconds later, he was sitting there while Athos continued to unfasten his jacket.

Aramis sighed and gave up, allowing him to do it.

No one missed the winces that Aramis tried to hide as they pulled his jacket off, and Porthos quickly grabbed Aramis' shirt and raised it, giving a whistle. The left side of Aramis' torso was one big bruise, obviously from his collision with the fruit cart. Athos gently pressed on his ribs, ensuring that none were cracked or broken.

Aramis held his breath and somehow endured the examination silently, flinching when Athos touched an especially sore spot.

Athos pulled his hand away and gave Aramis a few seconds before touching the same spot again. "Not broken," he said. "Perhaps bruised worse than the others, or cracked."

"I'm fine," Aramis remarked, stupidly, for he sneezed again before even completely getting out the words.

After helping Aramis get changed into nightclothes—during which they found that his left arm and leg were as bruised as his side—they forced him to get into bed and stood there looking down at him.

Aramis yawned and blinked at them. "You don't have to stay and watch me. It's only a cold."

"Actually, we do," said d'Artagnan, matching the posture of the other two; arms sternly crossed. "Treville told me that we have the task of keeping you in bed."

Aramis blinked. "I'm a grown man," he said. "And I'm older than you! I don't need nursemaids for a cold!"

"You're not older than _us_ ," said Porthos, gesturing between himself and Athos. "And your cold isn't the only issue now; half your body is black and blue."

"Would you really rather we left?" said Athos. "So you can sneeze on the stairs and fall down them? If that rib _isn't_ cracked, it will be _then_."

"Along with others," said Porthos, making a face as if he couldn't bear the thought.

D'Artagnan took a step forward. "Be a good boy and stay in bed, and I'll ask Serge to make those pastries that you like so much."

"Good ' _boy_ '?" Aramis echoed. "All right then, if I'm forced to have you as my nursemaids, then you're gonna _be_ nursemaids _._ "

For the next hour, Aramis ran them ragged; having them fetch him more water, handkerchiefs for blowing his nose, an extra shirt and heated bricks to put under his blankets to ward off the chill, some of Serge's delicious soup, a bottle of wine (claiming that it was 'medicinal'), a wet towel for his forehead (even though he didn't have a fever), some books to read, and as d'Artagnan promised; the pastries.

"Delicious," Aramis said, licking the sticky goodness from his fingers. "Are there anymore?"

His three friends stood beside his bed with their arms crossed, glaring at him.

"What?" Aramis said.

"You're enjoyin' this a little too much," said Porthos.

Aramis made a face. "You think I'm enjoying sneezes that rattle my brain and the entire left side of my body feeling like I crashed through wood?"

"That's because you _did_ crash through wood," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"Exactly," Aramis said. Since his friends weren't moving from their stern positions, Aramis reached over to put his empty plate on the bedside table, and he involuntarily sucked in a pained breath and his face paled when he jarred his bruised ribs.

As one, all three of the others tried to take the plate from him, which only served to knock it out of Aramis' hand.

Porthos instead reached out to gently push Aramis back against the pillow. "No movin'," he said.

Aramis let him do it, still wincing. Once he was back in his original position, he sneezed and wrapped his right arm around his ribs with a soft groan.

Instantly, the others all felt incredibly guilty.

D'Artagnan sat on the other side of the bed and put a hand on Aramis' arm, leaving Athos to deal with the plate. "We're sorry, Aramis," he said. "We'll continue to get you everything you need."

Athos put it on the table and brushed away the few crumbs that had fallen onto the blankets.

"That's right, just take it easy," Porthos said, putting a handkerchief in Aramis' hand when his friend sniffed.

Aramis blew his nose and winced again. The last thing he needed at a time like this was injured ribs. "I didn't mean to take advantage," he said, his voice sounding nasally and hoarse. "I was so annoyed, and it was just...so funny." He chuckled, before it turned into a cough.

The other three looked at each other and sighed.

The next several days passed in a similar fashion: forcing Aramis to stay in bed and doting on his every whim. His sneezing became more frequent and he developed a constant cough, which gave him a headache and prolonged the pain in his ribs. It wasn't until the sixth day that his symptoms started to lessen and they let him get out of bed.

"Only if you promise to sit outside and not come down the stairs," Athos said. "And I _mean_ this, Aramis: _do_ _not_ come down the stairs."

Aramis nodded. "I won't."

"Swear it," said Porthos.

"I swear."

"Because if you sneeze on the stairs and fall, you'll hurt your ribs again, and—"

"I swear, Porthos," Aramis told him. "I won't come down the stairs."

Porthos nodded and all four of them left the room, leaving Aramis in a chair next to the rail where he could watch what went on below.

A few minutes later, Treville came out of his office carrying an armful of muskets. "Aramis!" he said. "Feeling better?"

Aramis nodded. "Yes, finally."

Treville smiled. "Good to hear." He leaned the muskets against the rail beside Aramis before going back inside his office for something else.

Aramis reached out to pick one up, but as soon as his hand clasped it, he sneezed.

In the courtyard below, everyone heard the sound of the sneeze, but no one expected a hail of muskets to suddenly rain down.

D'Artagnan shouted, "Look out!"

Porthos and Athos both had to jump out of the way, and watched in shock as the muskets all landed with a crash on the ground. "Aramiiiiiiiiiiis!" they both exclaimed.

Aramis appeared over the rail, looking worried until he saw that no one had been struck. "Sorry!" he shouted, before sneezing again and suddenly disappearing from view.

Athos and Porthos heard the thump that told them that Aramis had fallen, and they both winced.

"I'm fine!" they heard, before they could ask.

"He's going to be the death of us someday," Athos dryly commented, as they both started heading back towards the stairs to take care of their crazy friend.

THE END


End file.
